


Heart's Armor

by ayesakara



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, DaredevilContinued, Explicit Language, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-11-02 04:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20622083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayesakara/pseuds/ayesakara
Summary: Matt isn’t happy when Frank Castle shows up to disrupt his life as Daredevil. He wants Frank to leave him alone because they don't, can't work together. But the Punisher has other ideas. And he wants Daredevil to pay attention.





	Heart's Armor

The first time it happened was on a warm summer night.

It was the middle of July and the week had been hot and muggy throughout, but this Wednesday night the air had cooled slightly and Matt was feeling refreshed for a change.

The drug runners Matt had been following for the past three nights had finally led him to a warehouse on the docks. The exchange was between two other groups which he hoped would lead to a bigger bust. This had the potential to take down the ring responsible for the new variation of meth doing the runs around night clubs in Hell’s Kitchen. But this meant Matt had to play things smart and not act too soon before he had his eyes on bigger fish.

Taking down the two goons guarding the doors was easy. Dressed in his all-black garb with the makeshift mask covering his face and his hands wrapped in ropes, Matt was a blur neither of them saw before they were lying crumpled on the ground. Pulling the two unconscious men into the shadows, Matt sneaked into the warehouse, and crouched behind crates. He listened to the two middle-tier thugs negotiating inside the warehouse, and two others guarding the vehicles. Matt crept along the containers, readying himself to take out another man, when he heard the cocking of an automatic rifle from the rooftop of the building behind the warehouse.

He’d counted one less thug, and now he’d been spotted. In a split second, Matt dropped himself to the floor just as the bullet hit one of the targets inside the warehouse and the screaming started.

Dammit, he was not the target. Someone was shooting at his marks. He jumped up and oriented himself just as the sound of running feet came from around the containers. Matt knocked down the armed guard that appeared from behind with a karate chop, and threw his baton at another one fleeing, hitting him in the head just as more bullets rained down from the roof.

Another thug saw Matt and pointed his gun at him, just as Matt jumped out of the way, rolling to safety behind one of the cars as bullets hit the vehicle. In response, more bullets came from outside, this time from a lot closer, and the armed thug went down with a shout. Matt frowned as he heard the other car engine roar to life. He ducked out from behind the car to tackle another thug to the ground, punching him twice, and then slipped behind a wall of crates as bullets came at him from the other car as it peeled out in a screech of tires, speeding away.

Matt stood up slowly and assessed the scene. Six men down, including the two guards he’d taken out earlier. Two perps had gotten away. The shooting had stopped, but Matt knew he wasn’t alone. He could hear a distinct heartbeat, steady as a drum beat and one he recognized. A heartbeat he hadn’t thought he’d hear again. He picked up his fallen batons and turned around to face the shooter as he walked inside the warehouse.

“Frank.”

“Red.” The Punisher stood still inside the door, smelling of leather and gun oil. “That is the most ridiculous costume I’ve seen you in yet.”

Matt’s mouth dropped open in shock. What the hell. Then he felt his teeth grit as his lips opened up in a snarl. “My costume? You ruined the operation I’d planned for days, and that’s all you have to say?”

Castle huffed. “That asshole was aiming for your head. Do you _want_ to get shot? Where’s your clown helmet?”

Matt’s hands fisted around his sticks as he took a deep breath to calm his heartbeat. The nerve of this gun-toting, Kevlar-wearing maniac. “That asshole with the gun wouldn’t be shooting at me if _you_ hadn’t showed up and starting shooting at everyone _else_. I had everything under control, Frank, I needed these people alive.”

“Look around you, Red. No one’s dead,” Castle pointed at the downed perps. “I know you’re an uptight altar boy, so I let them live.” He growled, “Even if none of these piece-of-shit scumbags deserve it.”

And he was right. Matt could hear the heartbeats. The three men shot were not dead, only moaning in agony from their shattered shoulders, smashed kneecaps and cracked hipbones. Castle had taken shots with just enough precision to maim them, but none of them were fatal – or shouldn’t be if they got help in time.

Unless Castle shot them again. Matt moved to one of the guards he’d knocked out who was starting to wake up. “You let the others get away,” he hissed. The waking man was struggling to reach for a gun lying close by and Matt heard the click of safety being pulled on Castle’s gun so he stepped hard on the fallen man’s hand with a loud crunch, making him cry out in pain, as Matt kicked the gun away with his other foot. Matt punched the goon once more. “They were supposed to lead me to their next meetup.”

Castle uncocked the gun again. “_You_ let them get away by standing up and getting in _my_ way.” He drawled, “I had to intervene to save your dumb ass from getting shot.”

Matt whirled on him disbelievingly. “I didn’t need saving, Frank.” He frowned, confused. “I haven’t seen you in over a year and here you are, showing up out of nowhere to screw things up for me. What the hell are you even _doing_ here?”

“Reminding you that your stupid shirt gives you no protection whatsoever,” Castle said as he walked past a spluttering Matt, his boots crunching on the concrete floor. “If you want these assholes to give you intel, you better start questioning them fast. The cops are on their way.”

Of course, they were. Matt had heard the sirens forty seconds ago. They’d be here in less than two minutes.

“I’ll see you around, Red.”

Matt snarled at his retreating figure. “No, you won’t.”

But Castle was already gone, and all Matt could do was stand with his hands clenched in a mixture of confused rage as the sounds of the police sirens got closer.

***

The next morning, Matt was in a foul mood.

He didn’t get a single lead from any of the perps before he had to make himself disappear, lest he make his presence known to the NYPD. If only the Punisher hadn’t shown up to ruin his night. And he hadn’t even killed anyone. Not that Matt wanted him to kill people. But this was not like Castle at all. All he’d done was take pot shots at Matt’s costume. _That_ definitely was like Castle. But the rest of it made no sense.

Besides, it was not a costume. He’d outgrown the need for one. He was just wearing clothes that could hide him in the shadows. He was a blind ninja, he could do anything he wanted.

“So I take it your nightly activities didn’t go as planned.”

Matt came out of his thoughts to realize Foggy was standing at the door to his office. “What?”

Foggy sighed. “You were scowling at your coffee mug and you haven’t turned that page in half an hour. And the tape you were listening to stopped running a while ago and you haven’t noticed.”

Dammit. “Sorry.” Matt pulled the earbuds out and threw them on the table. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Wanna talk about it?” 

He felt his teeth clench again and made a conscious effort to relax his jaw. “Thanks, Foggy, but no.”

“Hmm.” Foggy leaned against the doorframe. “I heard there was a big drug bust on the docks last night.”

Matt huffed in a breath. “Not big enough.”

“So you _do_ know what I’m talking about?”

“Foggy!”

“Okay, sorry, got it. You don’t wanna talk about it.” Foggy raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture and backed away. “I’ll leave you to grump alone, as requested.”

Matt sighed and turned the page on his report. Work had been busy this past month but they’d just wrapped up a big case with a sizeable settlement in favor of their client. Which meant the next few months' rent on their new office could be paid without any hitches. Foggy and Karen were pleased, and so was Matt. Matt knew they couldn’t survive working pro bono all the time, so he had to work harder in his own hours if he wanted to help people who couldn’t afford to pay them.

One of those pro bono cases had been Hell’s Kitchen resident Sylvia Garcia’s 19-year-old son Alexander. He’d been five months into a scholarship at Queens College, when – according to his mother – he got involved with drugs at parties he was invited to and stopped paying attention to his studies. He dropped courses at first, and then dropped out of college altogether. One night he was at the wrong party at the wrong time where he was busted with experimental meth. The same meth the FBI had been investigating. 

Matt knew Alexander had made stupid mistakes but that didn’t mean he deserved to have his whole life ruined. Matt also knew that all the kids arrested at that nightclub had been the end users, and none of the dealers were caught. Alexander was over 18, was Hispanic, and didn’t come from money, which meant he was being prosecuted like a hardened criminal. He had had no priors, though, and had been an honors student until he dropped out of college. Matt hoped his past clean record would help him get off with community service. Or at the very least, with a reduced sentence.

The meth was still making the rounds and there had been a dozen cases of overdose and five deaths in the last three months. Matt’s investigations had led him to clues which pointed at the Italian mafia this time. Rosalie Carbone was a name he associated with Wilson Fisk – but after the Kingpin’s arrest, everyone had become extremely careful in their criminal operations. But Matt knew the other mob bosses were eventually going to try and take over Fisk’s territory.

For now, the only thing Matt worried about was stopping the spread of the drug, and in order to do that, production and supply had to be halted at source. Which meant Matt had to keep going after the drug runners. The only problem was that him going out every night after long days at the office resulted in him being exhausted most of the time.

And Foggy noticed. Foggy said nothing to stop him because he knew Matt wouldn’t listen, but that didn’t stop him from giving Matt disapproving looks during the day. Matt knew Foggy well enough to hear the disapproving looks in his impatient long-drawn sighs. But Matt had also perfected the art of ignoring such looks. Even when Karen was rolling her eyes, the gesture clearly audible in her irritated heaves of breaths from her office. Karen knew everything that was going on even if she also chose not to say anything to Matt.

So yeah, it had been a hot summer and a tiring month and he had wanted his nightly activities to go the way he’d planned them to go. Not get disrupted by a murderous vigilante who hadn’t been around to get in his business for well over a year – even though Matt knew Frank had been back in New York for months.

**

The drug runners had apparently gone into hiding. Matt could find no trace of them for the next two nights, no matter how many faces he punched.

And he punched quite a few, taking his anger out on small-time muggers and bodega robbers who thought they could come into the devil’s territory and stir shit up.

He didn’t run into Frank either, although Matt could swear he felt eyes tracking his movements every now and then. And maybe even picked up the steady thrum of a distinct heartbeat. But when he focused his hearing on it, it faded away.

**

The second time it happened, it was raining and Matt had finally picked up the trail of someone close to one of Carbone’s lieutenants, who was possibly involved with the meth operation.

That led him to an empty restaurant at the corner of 59th and 12th, where he walked straight into a gunfight. Of course, where drugs were involved, arms dealing was likely part of the equation. And where there were guns, Matt knew what was coming next.

So when he heard the click of what was most likely Frank’s automatic rifle take aim at someone – _probably his mark_ – from the building behind him, Matt threw his baton at his mark’s head, causing him to fall back and get knocked out, and as a bonus miss the bullet that would’ve shattered his shoulder.

Matt had saved his mark, but he couldn’t save the five other assholes who decided they wanted to shoot back at the Punisher, who was – _surprise, surprise _– not hiding this time. He was on the roof behind, not caring about the pouring rain, as he started taking them down one by one. This led to a long gunfire exchange, which Matt had to hide from by ducking behind a door – and once that was over, all he had left was his knocked out perp, two escaped arms dealers and three criminals lying on the ground moaning in agony.

Yeah, all of them bore non-lethal wounds.

Matt had called the police by the time Frank jumped down from the roof and walked into the building. His next baton went flying at the Punisher’s gun, making him lose his shot at one of the perps, as Matt growled, “No killing, Frank.”

He expected more resistance but to his surprise, instead of being pissed as he would’ve been in the past, Frank simply followed him out of the restaurant. “That was really rude, Red,” the Punisher drawled. “I was trying to save you some time.”

“By killing a man you’d already shot.” Matt stalked away from the crime scene, scowling. “A man who was lying on the ground, not going anywhere.”

“Not just any man. A criminal who sells drugs in nightclubs and bars and his fucking dealers target school kids.” Frank trailed after him, his gun shouldered securely, as they walked away from the approaching police sirens. “You really want to save that sonofabitch?”

Matt ignored the question. “Why the hell are you following me?”

“I’m not following _you_.” Frank sounded indignant. “I was following that guy you were following but as usual, you got in my way with your dumbass costume.”

_Not again_, Matt thought as he rolled his eyes – a gesture lost behind the black mask but he really didn’t care. “I don’t need a lecture on my clothing choices, Frank. Stop shooting at my marks.”

“Stop showing up at shootouts without armor.”

Matt paused to tilt his head and listen to the police cars reach the restaurant. He then walked into another alley, getting farther away from the scene, knowing the Punisher was not done following him yet. “There _would_ be no shooting if you would stop interrupting my work.”

“There was already shooting going on, you asshole," the Punisher snarled. “And you were still here.”

Matt frowned. Frank’s tone of voice was agitated but his heartbeat was steady as always. Which meant none of this ruffled his feathers. Which meant he was playing with Matt’s head. Which meant Matt could not let it get to him.

“I was following a lead that was going to get me more names.” Matt took in a deep breath. “But once again, you had to fuck it all up.”

Castle shook his head. “Seriously, Red. I thought the little boy pajamas you wore were ridiculous but this is the dumbest outfit I’ve ever seen.” For heaven’s sake. “Do you really think this _costume_ is of any help whatsoever to your trouble-seeking ass?”

“My _costume_ keep me perfectly camouflaged,” Matt fumed.

Frank laughed mirthlessly. “You’re soaking wet.”

“_So are you,_” Matt snapped.

“I’m completely dry inside,” Frank said. “And I’m wearing armor.”

This whole conversation was idiotic and a waste of time and made no fucking sense to Matt at all. “Why the hell are you here, Frank?”

Castle paused for a moment and Matt could feel the Punisher's heated glare focused on him, the sound of his heartbeat loud in Matt’s ears. And then Castle whirled around and walked away from Matt, grumbling angrily. “You’re such a fucking dumbass, Red.”

Matt stood still in the rain and listened to the sounds of Frank's boots splashing on the road as he turned into a side street, obviously not waiting for an answer. “My outfit is black, by the way,” Matt called out after him.

But Castle was already gone.

Matt listened for the sound of his heartbeat receding until it was finally undetectable in the rain. Then he climbed a fire escape and made his way back to his apartment, thoroughly confused.

What the hell was going on with the Punisher?

**

Of course, someone had caught sight of the Punisher and his skull vest last night and it made the third page of the Bulletin. There were, apparently, pictures.

“Dammit, the Punisher is back,” Foggy grumbled over coffee next morning. “Just keep out of his way, will you? You don’t wear any armor and I worry when there’s an assault weapon-wielding psychopath roaming the neighborhood. A psychopath who hates your guts.”

Neither Foggy nor Karen usually liked talking about Frank Castle in front of him.

Foggy because he still held a grudge about Frank tying him to a chimney that one time. And Karen because – as Matt suspected – something had gone down between her and Frank when he was in town the last time. Whatever it was had made her clam up completely and she refused to talk about it. Matt knew she’d gone to see him when Frank was in the hospital. She didn’t know that Matt knew and he’d left it at that. A source he knew at Metro-General had seen her during the whole debacle. But Frank had escaped from police custody and Karen had been back to work the next day like nothing had happened.

So now even though the newsfeeds were abuzz with sightings of the Punisher, Karen was pretending as if nothing bothered her. Which left him to deal with Foggy’s concern all on his own.

“He’s shot you before, Matt,” Foggy hissed at him.

“Don’t worry, Foggy,” Matt placated him. “I don’t think Frank Castle really wants to bother with me these days. He’s been back for months and I haven’t come across him in all this time.”

Which would’ve been the absolute truth a week ago. But this morning, Matt was a lying liar and he had no shame.

**

That night, Matt was hyper-aware of his surroundings when he went out. He stayed out front and visible as he took out a mugger in an alleyway and broke up a fight between a knife-wielding couple having a lover’s brawl – yes, it was a slow night. But the moment he heard Frank’s heartbeat from a distance, he slipped into the shadows.

Castle was definitely looking for him – at least, at first. But Matt was determined to be invisible tonight. Frank soon realized he couldn’t find him anywhere and Matt could tell that frustrated the Punisher. But it also didn’t take him long to pivot from his fruitless stalking of Daredevil to returning to what Matt assumed was his actual mission. He followed Frank to two shady bars within Hell’s Kitchen that Matt had tracked the drug ring activities to previously, and then all the way to a nightclub in Murray Hill that Matt knew was linked to the Carbone family. This time Matt followed him closely, slipping on the roof of the club to track the Punisher’s heartbeat to make sure he didn’t suddenly fly into a murderous rampage inside a packed nightclub. But all he did was question people discreetly and left without incident.

So Frank _had_ been telling the truth about this. He had been tracking the same meth trail that Matt had been following. How long ago he started doing that, Matt didn’t know. But it was evident Castle hadn’t found any new leads tonight. 

Finally, Matt tracked him to one of the safehouses that Matt had discovered a year ago.

_Interesting._ The Punisher was using the same hideouts he’d used in the past, because he probably didn’t think anyone knew about them.

**

The third time it happened was two nights later, and it gave Matt more than pause. In fact, it stopped him in his tracks completely. He wasn’t even out on patrol. It was after seven in the evening and Matt was coming home from a long day at the office and he knew something was off the moment he opened the apartment door.

Someone had been in his apartment. He sniffed the air. Gun oil and leather. The Punisher. _No._

There was a bulletproof jacket lying on his kitchen counter. Next to it was a piece of paper on which someone – _Frank Castle_ – had scratched the words _WEAR THIS, DUMBASS_ in all caps. 

Frank knew his identity. _Fuck_.

He changed into his gear and went out the roof entrance.

Frank was still at the same safehouse he’d followed him to last time, a small apartment on the 2nd floor of a shabby, decrypt building on East 37th. His shock was apparent in his thudding heartbeat when he answered Matt’s knock on the door with a loaded gun pointed at him.

“I don’t need a bulletproof vest.” Matt shoved the vest into the Punisher’s hands and pushed past him, and into the small apartment.

Matt could hear Frank’s disbelief in his voice. “How the hell did you know where to find me?”

Matt turned around to face him. “How the hell did _you_ know where I lived?”

Castle paused to stare at him for a few seconds. Then he shut the door behind him. “Oh, come on, Red, you think I didn’t know who you were a year ago?” He sounded skeptical.

Yes. No. Matt had suspected but was never sure. _They’d never talked about it._ He settled on: “No.”

“Seriously, Murdock?” Castle said incredulously. “I knew who you were the moment you walked into that hospital room. Why the hell did you think I let you represent me?”

Matt shrugged. “Uhhhh... because we were the only decent counsel that were willing to help you from getting killed,” he said. “Oh and... to spite the DA?”

“Decent counsel, my ass,” Frank jeered. “If I hadn’t already known at the hospital room, then your courtroom performance would’ve been a clear ringer. You can’t even mask your voice, Red.” Then he grudgingly admitted, “But yeah, I did want to spite the DA too. And I knew you’d try to do the right thing ‘cause you're a goddamn do-gooder – in _all_ your jobs.”

Matt tilted his head back, his senses focused on the vigilante’s vitals. His heart rate was accelerated but Frank was telling the truth. The shock of finding Daredevil at his doorstep was also slowly subsiding. “And then you sabotaged our case,” Matt quietly declared.

Frank sighed deeply and admitted, “Yeah, I did.”

“Because Fisk got to you.”

Frank paused, his heart skipping a beat before resuming its steady pace. “...You knew that?”

Matt scoffed. “Yeah, I figured it out.”

“You went to see him in prison, didn’t you?”

Matt shook his head and wondered if Frank had any idea how many times he’d done this: gone to see Fisk, or tracked his enemies to prison to try and find intel to use against him. “It didn’t go well.”

“It never does,” Castle hummed. “But you finally got him this time.”

Matt stayed quiet. Fisk was a loaded subject, one that he wasn’t in the mood to get into with the Punisher. “I want you to stop showing up on my missions and shooting at my targets.”

“Have you stopped to consider that maybe I could have some intel on those targets as well?” Frank snapped. “Because maybe they’re not just your targets but they’re mine too?”

“You and I have very different ways of operating, Frank,” Matt said, then turned the argument back to the reason he’d come here. “And I don’t need a bulletproof vest.”

Castle blew out a breath in frustration. “For crying out loud, Red, you need protection if you’re gonna keep doing what you’re doing. Why don’t you get your guy to make you a new costume?”

Matt frowned. “He’s not around.”

“Where is he?”

“None of your goddamn business,” Matt retorted.

Frank swore and then breathed heavily, as if trying to calm his tone. “Look, I know you’ve been through shit. It’s been a tough year. But you’re still here, alive, despite all the shit that happened to you.”

Matt scoffed. “Thanks for your concern, I’m fine.”

“I’m trying to make a point, dumbass,” Frank barked, the tone rising in volume again.

“Calling me names doesn’t exactly help,” Matt sneered.

“I know about Midland Circle.”

Matt shook his head dismissively. “You know nothing about Midland Circle.”

“I know a whole fucking building fell on you, _while_ you were wearing armor,” Castle argued. “And you survived.”

Matt knew it sounded childish, but it had to be said. “I didn’t survive because of the armor.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I survived because…” Matt paused. He was not going to say miracle. Even though it was one. Because he wasn’t sure Frank believed in miracles. Even though Frank surviving a gunshot wound straight to his head was also a miracle. But Matt didn’t have time to get into that. He continued, “I was lucky.”

He could sense the Punisher staring at him in silence for a few seconds, and then Frank said, his tone flat, “You were lucky.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t even wearing my helmet,” Matt added. “And I still survived.”

“You weren’t wearing your helmet.” Again, it wasn’t framed as a question.

“No.”

“You weren’t wearing your helmet,” Castle repeated. “And the building fell on your head.” He shook his head in amazement. “Yeah, it’s all making sense now.”

“What?” Matt frowned at him.

“It’s obviously head trauma,” Frank announced sedately. “You have brain damage, Red… that’s why you refuse to wear armor.”

Matt clenched his jaw. “Shut up, Frank."

“You need help, Red,” Frank said, his voice calm. “Serious help.”

Matt walked back to the door and opened it. “I’m leaving.”

And then Matt left.

**

The next morning, the bulletproof vest showed up in the Nelson, Murdock & Page office. On Matt’s desk.

And Foggy was the first one to see it. And to Matt’s chagrin, he was delighted.

“Matt, you got a bulletproof vest,” Foggy said, a smile splitting his face. “Oh, thank God, I’m so happy!”

Matt was grateful Karen had taken the morning off to go to the dentist. Maybe he could control this situation before she was back.

“No, Foggy.” He shook his head. “This thing isn’t supposed to be here.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t be here,” Foggy observed. “What are you doing, Matt? Why did you bring it here?” He lowered his voice. “Although, I’m very happy you got a bulletproof vest. But you really should keep it at home.”

“I didn’t bring it here,” Matt insisted. “It’s not mine.”

“What do you mean it’s not yours?” Foggy asked. “It’s the perfect size for you. And it’s light and... flexible and the quality of the leather underneath the armor, it’s so soft and perfect.” Yeah, he knew all that – it was the greatest fucking armored vest ever – but that wasn’t the point. The point was he didn’t need an armored vest. “It’s exactly what I’ve been hoping you’d get until you got yourself a proper suit,” Foggy continued, obviously not hearing Matt’s mental dialogue.

“Foggy, you know I can’t right now,” Matt said.

“Yeah I know,” Foggy replied. “Not until we get Melvin Potter out of the FBI’s clutches. But this is what you need until Melvin is out and can make you a new suit.”

“That’s going to take a while,” Matt said. “The case the FBI built against him is problematic to say the least.”

“Yes, but they also know he was used by Fisk,” Foggy said. “And you said he’s kinda on the spectrum.”

“That’s what I guessed, Foggy,” Matt said.

“I thought you wanted to help him.”

“I do,” Matt asserted. “I am.”

“Then let’s help him. And he will help you. Win-win.”

“Yes, okay.”

“Good!” Foggy beamed. “Now until that happens, this...” He pointed at the offensive piece of armored leather. “...is the best decision you could’ve made.”

Matt sighed and opened his laptop to turn it on.

Work. That’s what he wanted to do this morning.

If Matt thought that was the end of it, he was wrong.

When Karen returned from her dentist’s appointment, the first thing out of Foggy’s mouth was: “Matt got himself a bulletproof vest.”

“Did he?” Karen stood at his door, her tone very interested. “That’s something we’ve talked about.”

“No, we’re never talked about it.” Matt scowled.

“Not with you,” Karen said soothingly. “I meant Foggy and I have talked about it.” She handed him the medium roast Arabica from the coffee shop around the corner. “I’m glad you’ve decided to take better care of yourself. Seriously, Matt, you’re always running into situations where there are a lot of guns involved. It’s about time you got yourself some protection. It’s the smart thing to do.”

Why did all his friends think he wasn’t capable of taking care of himself? _His two friends_, he mentally corrected himself. Frank was not a friend. Frank was a killer and a psycho and he was a pain in his ass.

“You know what?” Matt smiled at them both, breathing deeply to keep himself calm. “I think I know what I’m doing. And I appreciate yours and Foggy’s concern but I can take care of myself.”

“Of course, buddy.” Foggy appeared around the door frame. “We never said you couldn’t. Did we say he couldn’t take care of himself, Karen?”

“I... never said that,” Karen grinned, her voice light. “We’re just glad you’re doing this with some protection now.”

The rest of the day was busy. Matt had a meeting with Sylvia Garcia to discuss Alexander’s case. She was worried because the DA was under pressure from the mayor’s office who wanted to expedite the trial date but Matt hoped their relationship with Blake Tower would help them come to a settlement instead. As he walked her out of the office, he assured Sylvia that they would do everything in their power to help Alexander and asked her not to lose hope. She hugged him before she left.

From time to time, he’d find Foggy or Karen mention the vest in veiled conversations. And the happier they sounded, the more pissed off Matt felt. He knew he was being ridiculous. He knew they were right. He’d had these conversations with Claire as well. He knew the black suit didn’t give him protection, but _he_ wanted to be the one to make the decision when to get armor. He didn’t want his friends telling him what to do about his Daredevil persona. Because only he knew the situations he faced. All they had was second-hand information.

Well, that wasn’t true in Foggy’s case, Matt sighed. He had found Matt half-dead after the fight with Nobu, after all. But he didn’t want Foggy agreeing with the Punisher on this, even if Foggy had no idea the Punisher was involved in this situation at all. He just didn’t want Frank to be right about this.

Matt knew he was acting like a child, but he was not going to let Frank Castle dictate what he should or should not do in any part of his life.

He left the Kevlar at home and went out looking for trouble that night.

And trouble found him when he followed the trail of one of the perps who’d escaped the last time the Punisher had interrupted his mission, and walked straight into an ambush.

He was expecting to get shot at, because the bullets inevitably came but the flash grenade on top of the bullets was an unexpected surprise.

For a deafening moment, his whole world was on fire. There was a searing pain in his side which he couldn’t pinpoint the cause of, his ears were ringing painfully, and his senses were going haywire. Chaos and confusion enveloped him as he dropped to his knees, overwhelmed by the disorienting effects of the bomb.

He had no idea where he was. He'd been somewhere close to the docks, there had been people shooting at him, but now he couldn’t hear anything and he couldn’t stay upright because his equilibrium was gone.

Something brushed against his head and he kicked at the intruder, his hands curled into fists as he fought back. A hand gripped his arm and he slashed back blindly, his lips pulled back into a snarl. He wasn’t sure what noises he was making but his throat felt raw as if he was screaming. But he couldn’t hear anything. He didn’t know what was going on. He knew he had to fight back, but he was defenseless in this state.

Once more, he was gripped by strong hands, and in the midst of his terror, it suddenly hit him. The smell of leather and gun oil. And strong hands holding his arms. _Frank._ He breathed in relief. But he still couldn’t hear anything. One hand tugged at him, the other splayed on his back anchoring him, as he was pulled to his feet. But where was Frank taking him? Matt struggled in the vigilante’s arms, wrenching one arm free to swing at the Punisher. His fist connected with a nose, the arm holding him loosened its grip and Matt was left unmoored. He teetered on his feet, swaying, but he didn’t know which side was up and which side was down. He came crashing to the ground. His head pounded and he thought he’d groaned but he still couldn’t hear himself. He felt hands on him again and he again tried to shove them away weakly but the last thing he remembered was a blow to his jaw, and he was knocked out cold.

**

He woke up sometime later, his back against a firm mattress. His head was still pounding, and he still couldn’t hear anything. Wherever he was, the smell of leather and gun oil was even more pronounced here. He tried to get up and was pushed back by hands gripping his shoulders. He struggled against those hands, trying to push them back but there was a needle-prick on his arm, and he felt something rush into his bloodstream. He tried to get up, to get away, but the hands gripped him tight and after a few feeble efforts to push them away, he felt himself sinking and once again, he was out.

**

The next time he woke up, the ringing in his ear had finally stopped but the headache was still there, if a little less debilitating than before.

“Frank?” he croaked.

Castle was by his side in a second. “Red, it’s all right. You’re safe.”

Matt felt for his mask and, of course, it was off. Not that it mattered anymore. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my safehouse.”

It was a different safehouse, though. Matt couldn’t tell which one of the four it was that he knew about. He only knew their locations from the outside and had only been inside one of them. This was definitely a different one. “What time is it?”

“It’s noon.”

“Noon?” Matt gasped. “What day is this?”

“It’s the next day.”

“I’m supposed to be at work.” Matt tried to get up from the bed and regretted it the moment he was upright, the vertigo making him nauseous. He groaned helplessly.

“Stay the fuck down.” Castle roughly pushed him back to the bed. “A flash grenade knocked you out. You probably have a concussion. And you were grazed by a bullet; I patched you up.”

Matt felt for the gauze on his lower abdomen, finding the wound efficiently bandaged, and realized belatedly that he was shirtless. Aside from the pounding in his head, there were aches and pains in other places too. Matt worked his jaw, found it sore and it slowly came back to him. “You... punched me.”

“You punched me first,” Frank grunted. “I was just trying to help you.”

Of course he was. Matt pursed his lips in disdain. “I have to call Foggy, and Karen.”

“I sent Nelson a text message from your phone,” Frank informed him. “He thinks you caught a stomach flu and are sleeping it off.”

“What?” Matt gaped at him. “How did you get my phone?”

“I went and got it from your apartment, okay?” Frank breathed heavily, his heartrate not as steady as it was a second ago. “While you were out.” He was clearly losing patience.

And so was Matt. The Punisher had again been in his apartment. This was unbelievable. “How long was I out?”

“The whole night, dumbass,” Frank scoffed, his teeth gritting. “I gave you something for it.”

“Something?” Matt felt his voice rise in volume. “You drugged me?”

“You were confused, you shithead, you couldn’t hear anything.” Frank’s heart was beating faster now, and he was no longer making an effort to calm his tone. Matt could almost smell his anger billowing from his skin. “I _had_ to knock you out. I was hoping your hearing would come back in the morning.”

“It did. And now I need to leave.” Matt again tried to get up but the moment he was on his feet, he felt his equilibrium slip away and he nearly collapsed to the floor.

“Stay the fuck down, goddammit.” Frank gripped his flailing arms and pushed him back to the bed. “You can barely stand up. _Piece of shit._”

“I’m _fine_,” Matt huffed indignantly but let himself fall back against the headrest.

Frank sputtered for a moment and then growled down at him, “You’re _not_ fine. You were once again in the middle of a fight you shouldn’t have been in. You show up like an idiot in the middle of gunfights when you carry nothing but a bunch of stupid sticks to throw at people. And you don’t wear armor.” There was something else, aside from anger, in his tone that Matt couldn’t quite pinpoint. “You don’t ask for help, even when you know I’m working on the same fucking targets as you are, because of course only your way is the best way. I’m sick of your bullshit, Red. You don’t listen to reason, it’s like you’ve lost all common sense.”

Matt could feel his face turning red at being subjected to the tirade. “Well, you’re the one who said I have brain damage,” he fumed.

“This is not a joke, you asshole,” Frank ranted.” You could’ve died last night.”

“Why the hell do you give a shit, Frank?” Matt demanded. “You never did before.”

“Because you already died once, Red.” Frank yelled. “How many times am I gonna lose you?”

In the stunned silence that followed that declaration, Matt could hear not only Frank’s heart pounding in his chest, but also his own. What the hell? He felt his mouth open and close as he tried to form words, without success. What. The. Hell?

After several seconds, he managed a weak, “Frank?”

“Shut up,” Frank grumbled as he got up. “Stay or leave. It’s your fucking choice. There’s a change of clothes on that cot. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

And with that, Frank was gone, leaving Matt to wield this concussion-induced headache, and the million unanswered questions, on his own.

**

Matt ended up sleeping off his headache at the safehouse and by the time he was up and feeling somewhat better, it was night again.

Frank hadn’t come back the whole day. This place must have been one of his more frequently used hideouts because it had a more lived-in feeling. The apartment was just one room and it was small but functional. There were only two doors, one that led to the exit and the second one behind which Matt had found the bathroom earlier. There was an electric hot plate in what served as the kitchen area, and an old mini-fridge which gurgled in the corner.

And the place smelled like him, leather, gunpowder and gun oil. Hints of coffee. Matt realized those were the smells he remembered from last night. More of his memories were returning. He’d been knocked out by the flash grenade, and he’d lost his hearing. As he was panicking in his blind confusion, the Punisher had held him down and the smells that had grounded him were of leather and gun oil. Frank’s smells.

And then Frank had stuck a needle in his arm to knock him out. Frank Castle – who had told him he thought he’d lost Matt. Frank – who didn’t want to lose him again?

Matt picked at the clothes Frank had laid out for him, his brow furrowed in thought. Protective – that was the word that had eluded him earlier. The world had gone crazy because the Punisher was acting protective of him. Matt rubbed at the texture of the shirt and pursed his lips distastefully. It was a scratchy, synthetic material which smelled like it had just been taken off a rack at K-mart. It smelled of chemicals.

Matt sat on the edge of the bed and scanned his surroundings. There was a small dresser against a wall which contained clothing, though it felt like a foreign concept to Matt. The Punisher wore clothes other than the armored vest? He got up and went to the dresser, opening a drawer. Socks, underwear. He closed it and opened another one. T-shirts folded neatly in a row. Hmm, apparently the Punisher did wear normal clothes. Matt ran his hand across the folded shirts, soft, old, worn, nothing that smelled synthetic because everything had been worn and washed multiple times. He picked one, a long-sleeved t-shirt with a texture that felt particularly soft and worn out to him and he didn’t have to bring the shirt to his nose to know it smelled the same as this room did. Of leather and gun oil. Smells that were surprisingly inoffensive to his sensitive nose.

He shut the drawer and walked back to where the clothes were laid out on the cot along with his mask and both his phones – the burner and his personal one. He couldn’t believe Frank had broken into his apartment a second time to get his phone. How did he even know where to find it? What else had he found while he was there? Well, since Frank was acting so familiar with him, Matt was sure he wouldn’t mind Matt borrowing his old shirt.

Once he was dressed, and had secured the phones, he slipped out of the apartment with his mask folded in his pocket.

He was three blocks away from his apartment when he heard sounds of a struggle in a bodega and slipped into an alley to put the mask on. Despite his injured side, it didn’t take him long to take down the robber. As he tied the man up with a rope the bodega owner tossed at him, he asked him to call the police. There were several kids in the shop who’d watched the entire fight which had taken less than a minute and he endured their awe-struck oohs and ahhs as he secured the robber. He could hear the snapping of their phone cameras, as he slipped into an alley.

**

He texted Foggy in the morning to tell him he’d be coming in a little late to work, because he was still recovering from the stomach flu.

Twenty minutes later, there was pounding on his door – which he opened to reveal a hyperventilating Foggy, who stormed inside his apartment.

“What the hell, Matt?” Foggy exclaimed furiously.

Matt closed the door and turned to face his best friend, dumbfounded. “What?”

“You and Frank? Seriously?” Foggy yelled.

“Dammit,” Matt felt his shoulders droop. “How did you find out?”

“Oh my God, it’s true then,” Foggy said, his voice rising in volume exponentially. “_Oh my God!_”

“Look, Foggy, calm down,” Matt took a step forward, his voice pacifying. “I know I should’ve told you. But Frank was the one who lied about the stomach flu last night. I didn’t ask him to text you a lie.”

“What?” Foggy yelped. “You mean that text I received was from Frank? _From_ _your phone_?”

Matt frowned. “Yeah, isn’t that what you’re mad about?”

“No,” Foggy said impatiently.” I mean, _yes_, I’m mad that you’re hiding things from me again. But the fact that you’re involved with the Punisher and lying about it – its unbelievable.”

Matt tilted his head. “Involved?”

“Yes – _involved_, Matt,” Foggy intoned. “How long has this been going on?”

_This?_ Matt splayed his hands in front of him, thoroughly confounded. “Um, a couple of weeks?”

“What?” Foggy shrieked. “You’ve been sleeping with the Punisher for the past couple of weeks and I’m finding out about it now?”

“Sleeping with...” Matt stuttered in shock and then stuttered again, “Wait... what? What are... what are you talking about?”

“You and Frank, Matt,” Foggy said, his heartbeat racing. “It’s all over the news.”

“What’s all over the news?” Matt asked, suddenly worried. “What’s this all about?”

“His shirt, Matt,” Foggy said irritably. “You wore the Punisher’s shirt when you took out that bodega robber last night. There are videos all over social media.”

Oh. It still made no sense. “Yeah, his shirt,” Matt affirmed. “He gave me his shirt to wear.”

“So you admit you’re sharing clothes with the Punisher.”

“No, Foggy, he patched me up two nights ago,” Matt explained calmly, hoping it would help Foggy calm down as well. “And he gave me his shirt.”

“His skull shirt, Matt,” Foggy said, his tone not coming down in volume. And suddenly all the pieces fell into place. “You went out fighting crime in the Punisher’s skull shirt. Because what... he’s your boyfriend now?”

“No, Jesus, I’m not sleeping with Frank.” Matt wanted to scream in frustration. “He gave me his shirt because mine was torn. I must’ve picked up his skull shirt by mistake... wait,” Matt stumbled, “why does he have a skull shirt?”

“No, _you_ wait,” Foggy grumbled. “What do you mean he patched you up? The Punisher patched you up? You guys have been working and sleeping together and the Punisher is patching you up?”

“We’re not working together.” Matt gritted his teeth. “Or sleeping, Jesus. He keeps showing up at my ops, shooting at my targets and telling me to get armor. We’re not sleeping together, Foggy.”

Foggy was suddenly quiet, and Matt could feel him staring at him sharply. “He’s telling you to get armor?”

No, not _this_ shit. “I don’t need his advice,” Matt grumbled.

“So, he’s showing up at your ops and protecting you?” Foggy’s voice had lowered in volume, and his heartbeat was also slowing. “And sharing his wardrobe with you?”

Matt didn’t like where this was going. “Foggy...”

“Was he the one who left the bulletproof vest at the office?”

“Yeah, I told him to leave me alone,” Matt complained.

Foggy hummed. “This is the same guy who shot you in the head the first time he met you and then tied you to a chimney the next night?”

Matt sighed deeply. “Yes, but it’s different now, Foggy.” As much as he didn’t want to admit this, it was true. “He’s... different.”

“With chains, Matt,” Foggy said deadpan. “He tied you up with chains.”

“Yeah, I know.” Matt nodded.

“Jesus Christ.” Foggy shook his head. “Why is your life so full of drama all the time, man?”

“No, look...” Matt tried to explain but apparently Foggy had had enough of him.

“I’m going to the office.” Foggy walked to the front door and opened it. “Why don’t you take the day off and deal with your murderous yet equally protective boyfriend? And Karen and I will take care of the clients today.”

“I’m not... we’re not...” Matt stammered.

“Goodbye, Matt.” Foggy slammed the door on his way out.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

**

That night, he went back to the safehouse but Frank was still not there. In fact, it didn’t appear Frank had returned to the place at all since he’d left the previous night.

So, he was avoiding Matt? Well, since he’d been stalking him for the past two weeks, he should’ve learned enough about Matt to know _that_ was not going to work.

Matt had two other places he knew to check, and he could hear Frank’s heartbeat inside the first one he picked. He knocked on the front door and was greeted with a gun in his face again.

“You knew I took the wrong shirt,” he said. “The skull shirt. And you didn’t warn me.”

“How the hell did you find this place?” Frank exclaimed as he let Matt in. “I haven’t used it in a year. No one knows about this place.”

“It’s a mystery,” Matt shrugged. “Answer the question.”

Frank sighed. “I gave you another shirt, a plain black shirt, Red, because yours was torn to shreds. How was I supposed to know you were gonna dig into my clothes and steal something else?”

Matt pressed his lips together. “It felt all scratchy, all right? It didn’t smell right.”

“How did it not smell right?” Frank argued. “It was a brand-new shirt. I know your nose is sensitive, I didn’t want to give you a shirt that would mess up your senses more than they already were.”

“It was the worst polyester blend in the world,” Matt chided. “Where did you get it from?”

“What does it matter?” Frank sighed. “Besides, I didn’t realize until I saw the footage this morning.”

“You could’ve warned me when you saw the news but you didn’t,” Matt complained. “I had to hear it from Foggy.” He paused, feeling his face redden at the memory. “He thinks something’s going on between us. I thought... he was gonna have a heart attack.”

“Between us?” Frank sounded perplexed.

“Between us,” Matt asserted. “Between you and I,” he repeated. “He thinks there’s something going on between you and I because there’s... footage of me fighting in your stupid skull shirt.”

Frank was silent for a moment and then he quietly chuckled.

His reaction irritated Matt even more. “You think this is a joke. This is _funny_ to you?”

“Yeah, kinda is.” Frank laughed.

“I’m a joke to you?” Matt said irately. “Me, a blind man, who can’t see colors, I’m a joke?”

Frank suddenly stopped laughing. “What? No. That’s not...”

“You find my struggles as a blind man humorous, Frank?” Matt cut him off in the middle, his tone clipped.

“That’s not what I meant,” Frank blurted.

“What did you mean, then?” Matt demanded.

“I thought... you liked it,” Frank said quietly.

“Liked it?” Matt frowned.

“The shirt,” Frank said, and Matt could hear his pulse racing. “My shirt,” Frank stammered. “Because it was my shirt. I thought you took it because you liked it.”

Matt breathed in deeply. “You thought I knowingly took your skull shirt because I liked it?”

“Well, obviously now I know that you didn’t know about the skull part,” Frank mumbled, and Matt was perplexed to find that the Punisher was flushing. He could feel the heat rising off his skin even from a distance.

“That’s ridiculous,” Matt said slowly, his brow furrowed. “Why would you think... I’d take your skull shirt and go out fighting...” he stopped as the realization dawned on him. “Oh!”

He was such an idiot. The signs had been in front of him all this time and he was so ignorant. But this made no sense. Why? _Why? How?_

In his shocked frame of mind, he heard Castle move to the door. “Frank, wait.”

“I gotta go,” Frank growled as he yanked open the door, walked out and slammed it shut behind him.

“But you live here,” Matt declared to the empty room.

**

The next day at the office was filled with awkward silences – especially on his part.

Both Foggy and Karen seemed amused at his expense for some reason. As if they both knew something he wasn’t aware of. He decided to ignore them and focus on his work. They had a meeting with the DA’s office next week to discuss Alexander Garcia’s case. He really needed to find a way to help that kid.

Around noon, a courier delivered an envelope addressed to Matt. When he opened it, he found a stack of papers, typed out in braille, with information on the Carbone family’s purported connection to the meth business. It had locations, hierarchies, partnerships, all laid out in detail. Some of it was information Matt had already uncovered himself, but a lot of it was stuff he hadn’t gotten to yet.

Matt straightened up from the papers and shook his head in wonder. _Frank Fucking Castle__._

Both Foggy and Karen were wrong. Matt had spent most of the night awake, thinking about nothing but his last two encounters with Frank Castle. And now with this new piece falling into his lap, the game had utterly changed.

He knew what needed to be done.

**

“Jesus Christ,” Frank swore as he opened the door to his fourth safehouse, the gun at this side as always. “What the hell, Red?”

Matt had come here straight from the office, so he was still in his work clothes. He took a deep breath as he took his glasses off and folded them into his shirt pocket.

“You didn’t lose me,” Matt said.

He heard Frank take a quick breath in, felt the vigilante staring at his face, his heartbeat steady but fast. “No?”

“No,” Matt answered. “Because you never had me in the first place. You can’t lose what you never had.”

“Right.” Frank’s heart skipped a beat, but he stayed rooted to the spot, not letting Matt through the door.

Matt nodded. “Thank you for sending the intel on the Carbone connection.”

Frank snorted dismissively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Counselor.” But his heartbeat was loud and clear.

“Of course not,” Matt smirked. Then he sighed, “You’ve never wanted to work with me before, Frank. The last time I asked to work with you, you pushed me off a boat.”

“That’s because you were acting like a flaming sonofabitch,” Frank grumbled. “I wanted to put the fire out.”

Insults were part of their mode of communication, apparently. Matt breathed. “I didn’t know... you gave a shit.”

“Yeah,” Frank sighed. “I heard that one earlier.”

“And I realize now how full of shit I was to think that,” Matt admitted. “You saved my life that night on that rooftop. Sure, you disappeared for a whole fucking year after that.”

“Well, I had shit to take care of,” Frank interjected.

“And you went through crap,” Matt continued, “And I wasn’t there for you either.”

“Well, you had shit to take care of too,” Frank concluded.

“Yeah, I did,” Matt said. “And here you are, a year later, being a pain in my ass but trying to protect me in your own stubborn, dumbass way.”

“I’m being stubborn and dumbass?” Frank sounded unimpressed.

“Of course you are,” Matt stressed. “As always.”

“Of course.” Frank sighed impatiently and made to push him off as if he wanted to leave. “I gotta go.”

Matt threw his hands up incredulously. “This is _your_ _place_.”

“Yeah, I still gotta go.” Frank tried to push past him again.

Matt stepped in front of Frank before he could move, though, a hand on his bicep as he took a step forward to move just inside the door, making Frank back up against the wall.

“Goddammit, Frank, stop running away from me,” he swore at him. “This is the last safehouse I know you have and I’d have no idea where to find you next if you disappeared on me now and I’m _really_ not in the mood.” He could feel Frank’s body heat from this close. His heart was thundering in his chest but that sound was almost drowned out by the sound of Matt’s own racing heart. “You were right about the shirt,” he said.

“What?” Frank asked.

“I picked it up because...” Matt paused.

“...because?” Frank prompted.

“...because I liked it,” Matt admitted. “Because it was worn and soft and old and those are the best kind of shirts.”

“Right,” Frank murmured.

“...and because it smelled like you,” Matt declared.

“Fuck, Red.” Frank’s heartbeat faltered.

Matt shifted his hand from Frank’s bicep to his chest as he leaned into his space.

“Frank,” he said slowly. “Trust me when I say this. You annoy me so _fucking_ much.”

Frank huffed heatedly, his heart skipping another beat. “Oh yeah? Well, you get on my last freaking nerve too.”

Matt felt a smile tug at his lips as he heard the stutter in Frank’s breath.

He let the door close behind them.

**

**THE END**

/To be continued?

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic in almost 10 years. It was a good feeling to be creative once more. These boys make me want to write again.


End file.
